Kidnapped
by Portmanteu
Summary: Loki has been taken. What will Clint do to reclaim him?


_**Disclaimer: I own nothing beyond the scenarios my twisted little brain spits out. All characters contained within belong to bigger and better entities than I. Please do not sue, as I own literally nothing beyond the clothes on my back. Also, grammar and tenses sometimes escape me, so please, be kind.**_

* * *

As Loki climbed the steps to the apartment he shared with Clint, he felt a ripple of unease spread through him, and he threw a quick glance over his shoulder. His eyes roamed over the stairwell, finding nothing out of the ordinary, and the god sighed, chiding himself for allowing panic to take hold.

He'd awoken this morning with an odd feeling of dread coiled in his breast. He'd looked to where Clint was peacefully sleeping at his side, and then allowed his gaze to touch everything in their room. When he was satisfied that all was well, he then slid from the bed and checked over the entirety of their small home. All the magical wards he'd set were still in place, with no signs of tampering and there was no evidence of any reason for his senses to be on high alert. Shaking his head ruefully, Loki had convinced himself that his intuition was weakening here on Midgard, where the most he had to guard himself against was the nosy old woman next door.

That sense of impending doom had followed him throughout the day. It was a low static, sort of a background noise that seemed to increase at the oddest moments, but never culminated in anything beyond Loki feeling foolish for being concerned. That afternoon, Clint off on S.H.I.E.L.D. business, and his nerves fairly screaming, the god had fled the apartment. He'd thought the feeling may pass once he no longer felt caged by the tiny space, but it had followed him to the coffee shop; increased in the bookstore, and was now firmly entrenched in the back of his mind as he climbed the last few steps to his floor.

Turning the corner and heading down the hallway toward their apartment, Loki was met with the sight of the old woman from next door furiously rattling the knob to her own residence. She looked up and caught his eye, a relieved look spreading across her wizened features.

"Oh, thank goodness," she cried in a wavering voice.. "I've done something stupid, I'm afraid. Went down to check the mail and locked myself out!" Laughing, she continued. "That's the curse of growing old. You get more and more forgetful." Giving a slight shake of her head and a final rattle of the doorknob, she asked, "Could I use your phone to call the superintendent? My knees just can't handle another trip up and down those stairs."

"Of course," Loki answered automatically.

He'd been slightly wary of the old woman ever since he and Clint had moved in earlier that month, mainly because she seemed far too interested in their comings and goings. But Clint has assured him that that was a habit of the elderly here on Midgard. As their age increased, so did their penchant for keeping tabs on everyone around them. And now that he was presented with a closer look at her frail frame, and her hopeful, yet rheumy eyes swimming behind the overly large frames of her glasses, Loki had to admit he felt a measure of pity for her circumstances.

Unlocking the door, Loki swung it open and ushered the old woman inside. She shuffled in slowly, her motions speaking of the pain associated with each movement. Entering behind her, Loki shut the door, and turned to find her looking around helplessly.

"Where is the phone, dear? My eyes aren't what they used to be, it seems."

"It's just over here," he began, and stepped around her to lead the way. "Right next to…"

It was then that the cold metal prongs slammed into the side of his neck, and lightning coursed through his body, turning the god as boneless as a rag doll. Loki reached out to grab the hall table, scrabbling to keep himself upright, but he only succeeded in pulling it over with him. The floor rushed up to meet him, and the last thing he saw before he blacked out was the old woman crouching down and reaching out to wrap something around his throat. She then touched one finger to her ear, and spoke in a surprisingly strong tone, "Got him. Send up the collections team."

Clint grumbled to himself as he bounded up the stairs and down the hall to the apartment. Training had gone poorly; he was getting home far later than he'd promised Loki, and considering the odd mood the god had been in when Clint left, he could guarantee that Loki wouldn't be too happy about that. He'd tried to call before he'd headed home, but there had been no answer, which wasn't unusual when Loki was pouting.

Sliding the key into the lock, Clint spun the knob and threw the door open, calling out as he entered, "Loki? Sorry I'm late, but –" The words died on his tongue as he took in the scene before him. The small table in the entrance hall was overturned with debris scattered all about the base; the cushions ripped off the couch; drawers pulled out from the sideboard and thrown across the room. Clint's eyes darted from one thing to the next, battling his steadily growing panic. Kneeling down he stretched out a trembling hand and touched a dark smear on the floor, mentally chanting, '_No no no no no no please don't be what I think that is please oh god.' _And when his fingertips came away red, Clint whimpered, "Loki."

Loki swam up from the depths of unconsciousness slowly. First he became aware of low voices buzzing nearby, quiet enough that he couldn't make out what was being said, but loud enough to be bothersome. Next, the feeling returned to his limbs, followed by an unpleasant tingling sensation in his extremities. And last, Loki's eyes cracked open slightly, affording him a view of a dank and chipped concrete ceiling above him. He tried to move, only to find himself bound at wrist and ankle to some sort of padded chair, half reclined. Turning his head slowly, he winced at the pain in his jaws, and the uncomfortable feeling of a strap placed a bit too tight around his throat. Growling at the memory of the supposedly harmless old neighbor woman collaring him before he blacked out, Loki swore that he would gut the old hag if he ever saw her again.

"Ah! You're awake," someone called in a far too cheerful voice from off to his right.

Rolling his head to the side, he was faced with a tall, gaunt stranger grinning down at him. He was clothed in a dingy lab coat, a shock of wild gray hair falling over one eye, and he looked utterly unconcerned at having kidnapped a god.

'_That is an error in judgment I shall soon remedy,'_ Loki thought to himself, and prepared to gather his magic to lever an appropriate spell at the man before him. A shocked look came over the god's face as he realized there was nothing to gather; no familiar store of magic deep within. He was…empty.

"W-what have you _done_," Loki hissed through teeth clenched in rage.

"You mean your magic, I suppose? Sorry, but would couldn't leave that intact," the gray-haired man said apologetically. "Your magic made you far too dangerous, so in order to keep you contained, we had to…block your access."

Loki's eyes narrowed and he pulled against the restraints, but to no avail. The material they were forged from refused to give even the slightest bit, and Loki soon saw the futility in trying to break free. Stilling himself, he speared the man with a withering look. "How did you manage such a thing?"

Shrugging, the man said, "I don't really understand it myself, but there's something special about that collar. It sort of dampens the frequency."

"And what _exactly_ do you want from me?"

"From you? Nothing. You're just…an incentive, really," the man paused, an uncomfortable look crossing his face.

"An incentive for _what_, precisely," Loki demanded.

"Not what; _who_," came a voice from the other side of the room.

Loki turned toward the newcomer and was met with the sight of a well-dressed blonde woman glaring intently at the gray-haired man. "Joseph. You were supposed to inform me when he awoke."

"Sorry, Madeline. I-I was just about to call you," Joseph stammered, hands wringing nervously.

Giving the gray-haired man a dismissive wave, the woman stepped to Loki's side, staring down impassively at the bound god. "As I was saying," she continued. "We plan on using you as an incentive for Agent Barton to…complete a task for us. We need his particular knowledge and his clearance with S.H.I.E.L.D."

Smirking up at Madeline, Loki said quietly, "I do not think you realize what you have begun by taking me. Agent Barton is not the sort to simply bend to your will, no matter the _incentive_."

"We'll see about that, won't we? That's the thing about people; you never really know what they'll do until you threaten someone they love."

"Oh, I know very well what Clint's course of action will be," Loki chuckled.

"Do you," Madeline asked, leaning forward slightly. "Why don't you enlighten me?"

"It's quite simply, really," Loki stated emphatically. "He's going to destroy each and every one of you."

The woman took a step back, her eyes clouding with uncertainty. Without a word, she turned on her heel and stalked away, leaving Loki behind to contemplate how long it would take his Hawk to come for him.

Clint paced the length of the living room, kicking aside bits of debris as he went, his rage growing by the minute. After the initial shock had passed, he had searched the entire apartment, hoping against hope that Loki was hidden away somewhere, but it had quickly become apparent that was not the case. Especially once Clint found the note the bastards had left on his pillow. And isn't it funny how just nine words scrawled on a sheet of plain paper could feel like the end of the world?

Clint looked down at the note clenched in one white knuckled fist. Spreading it open, he reread it for the tenth time, feeling the impact of the words as strongly as the first. 'We have Loki. Tell no one. Will contact soon.' As his jaw clenched, teeth grinding together harshly, the phone rang. Clint grabbed the receiver and lifted it to his ear. Bypassing any greeting, he instead demanded, "Where is he?"

The only reply was a melodic laugh from the other end of the line before a woman's voice said evenly, "Well, it is good to know what your priorities are, Agent Barton. This negotiation should go fairly smoothly."

"Where. Is. He," Clint growled, quickly losing all patience.

"In due time, my dear archer. But first, don't you think we should discuss the terms under which you might be able to get your little god back, safe and sound?"

"So help me, if you do anything…_anything_…to hurt him, you will _not_ live to regret it," he snarled.

Again that infuriating laugh sounded. "Oh, how _sweet_. And how absolutely against your training. I was under the impression that spies were instructed not to form attachments, so that situations like this wouldn't arise."

"Yeah, well…I don't always follow orders."

"But you _will_ follow mine, as that is the only way you'll ever see Loki again," the woman snapped, her voice suddenly gone over to steel. "Are we clear on that, Agent Barton? You are to do _exactly_ what I say, _exactly_ when I say it, and only after you have delivered to me that which I desire will you be allowed to reclaim your…plaything."

Clint bristled at her choice of words, and bit his tongue to the point of pain before allowing himself to reply. "Yes, ma'am," he ground out finally. "What are my orders?"

"There's a good boy," the woman said in a condescending tone. "What I need from you is quite simple, really. All you have to do is bring me the blueprints of all operational Phase 2 weapons. Someone with your clearance should have no trouble accessing those, correct?"

Clint's eyes squeezed shut, and he was silent for a long moment.

"Are you still there, Agent Barton?"

"I am."

"Then answer me when I ask you a question," she hissed. "Keep in mind that if you need proper motivation, I _could_ let you listen in while we make your fallen god scream. He's rather helpless without his magic, you know."

"No," Clint exclaimed. "No…I-I'll do it. But you have to give me a little time. I can't just waltz in there and start printing off copies."

"Of course, Agent Barton," the woman said, her voice once again radiating warmth and good cheer. "You have 24 hours. Anything beyond that, and I cannot promise that Loki will be…complete upon his return. Are we clear?"

"Crystal," Clint replied, and hung up the phone.

A slow grin spread across his face as he checked the LED display he'd wired into the phone jack as soon as he found the note. He had figured that any group backwards enough to leave a goddamn _note_ at the scene of a kidnapping might just be terminally stupid enough to underestimate his computer skills. That assumption had paid off, and now he had an address. Grabbing his bow and slinging his quiver over one shoulder, Clint was out the door and on his way.

35 minutes later found Clint skulking in an alleyway across from an abandoned factory on the edge of an industrial park. He shook his head ruefully, wondering why all the wannabe bad guys chose such terrible locations for their 'secret lair'. No matter. It would just make his job that much easier. He hunkered down and waited for the first sign of security to show itself.

It was 15 more minutes before Clint caught sight of the first patrol. And it was all of one guy armed with nothing more than a pistol. Hell, he wasn't even at the ready; gun hanging at his side as he ambled noisily around the corner of the building, terminally oblivious to his surroundings. It almost made him feel sorry for what he was about to do. But then he remembered those smears of blood on the floor; the threats made against Loki, and his eyes narrowed as his bow came up.

Clint crossed the street in a crouched run, pausing next to the body long enough to retrieve his arrow. He noted absently that his aim was off just the slightest bit; he'd been going for the eye, but had hit the poor bastard in the left nostril instead. '_Pull it together,'_ he thought. '_Less emotion; more accuracy. This is too important to fuck up.' _Wiping the arrow clean on the downed guard's coveralls, Clint tucked it back into his quiver, dragged the body deeper into the shadows, and set off to find a way inside.

On the far side of the building, he found an unlocked door. Grimacing at the clear lack of security, he wondered how these people had even managed to get close enough to Loki to grab him. The more he saw of their outfit, the more convinced he was that he'd stumbled into amateur hour at the local 'Villains'R'Us'. Huffing out a deep sigh, he eased the door open and silently slipped inside.

Immediately to the right was a set of stairs leading to a catwalk that ran the circumference of the factory floor. Clint headed up and hugged the wall, keeping to the shadows as he circled the large open room, keeping a watch for any movement below. He'd made it roughly a third of the way around before he heard the low murmuring of voices. Pausing, he listened for a moment before creeping forward a few more feet, bringing into view three men that were standing near a plain metal door set in one wall. Scanning the scene, Clint took in the casual way they chatted, seemingly unconcerned about anything beyond their conversation. He was almost offended at their lackluster approach to security. Either this group didn't consider him a threat at all; thinking him completely subdued by their possession of Loki, or they were just really, _really_ stupid. He decided it didn't really matter one way or the other, especially considering that these three had less than ten seconds left to live.

Nine seconds later, Clint dropped from the catwalk to the factory floor and quickly reclaimed his arrows. He secreted the bodies behind the rusting hulk of an unidentifiable machine, and headed for the door the Three Stooges had been 'guarding'. Instinct told him that what he was looking for could be found somewhere on the other side, and his patience was wearing thin.

As he slipped through the doorway, Clint was faced with another set of steps that led down into the bowels of the building. The walls were dank, and the stair risers covered in a faint layer of rust. Keeping close to the wall to avoid any unnecessary noise, the archer crept slowly down, his eyes darting back and forth as he watched for any further patrols.

Reaching the bottom of the staircase brought Clint into a long hallway, blank walls herding him toward a T junction. He moved quickly, bow half drawn and pointed ahead. He knew that should he encounter anyone, they'd be downed within seconds. Long before they could raise an alarm, or even think to defend themselves.

And again he felt that prickle of his conscious; that little voice that asked if what he was doing was _right_. But he pushed that thought aside, telling himself that these people may not be all that skilled, but they were indeed dangerous, and if allowed to continue then they would eventually become a very real threat. Hell, if they had managed to compromise someone less skilled than himself, and actually gotten their hands on the Phase 2 plans…well, that would have been a disaster. Beyond that, they had Loki. And there was no way any of these bastards were walking away after pulling a stunt like that. Steeling his spine, Clint quashed that indignant little voice and set about finding his stolen god.

Looking right, the hallway came to a dead-end after roughly 20 feet. There were two doors in that direction, both with wire-mesh reinforced windows set dead center. Peering left presented Clint with a much longer path that looked to open into a larger room. There was no sign of life in either direction; no sounds of habitation to draw the archer's attention. Heading to the right, Clint quickly checked both doors, finding nothing more than small storage areas filled with years of cast off equipment.

Backtracking, Clint paused just before the hallway spilled into the large, dimly lit area ahead. Again, there seemed to be no motion or noise to guide him, so he slid around the corner and hugged the wall, eyes scanning the shadowed recesses of the room. There were several doors to chose from, all blank steel set into the chipped concrete walls. Huffing a deep sigh, Clint moved purposefully toward the closest one and eased it open.

Based on the silent swing of the door, the hinges must have been oiled recently, and for that Clint was grateful. Especially when he was presented with the broad back of yet another inept guard. Rule number one of security stated that you keep your eyes on the route leading _in_ to the secured area; not the interior itself. Granted, that was a mistake this particular man wouldn't be making again, especially not with an arrow buried deep in his back. Clint grimaced down at the quickly spreading pool of blood, and then stepped over the body, moving deeper into the compound. There was nowhere to hide the corpse in this long hallway, and the assassin absently thought that the time for such subterfuge had passed. From here on out it wasn't about stealth, but a full on assault.

Clint passed through a half dozen more doors; traversed a handful of rooms, and downed three more minions before he arrived in what looked to be a passably appointed laboratory. A gray-haired man was bent over a microscope, his attention fully focused on his work. Slinging his bow over one shoulder, the archer unsheathed his knife and crept up close behind the scientist before hooking his forearm around the man's neck and yanking him back.

"Not a sound," Clint growled, letting the touch of his blade still the man's struggles. "Or I'll open up your throat and bleed you like a pig. Now, where's Loki?"

"T-through that door and take a left," the man wheezed, gesturing across the room. "Second door on the right is the one you want."

"And where can I find your boss? She and I need to have a little…talk."

"Probably in the same place. She's sort of committed to keeping an eye on Loki until she gets what she wants out of this deal."

"I'm afraid she'd going to be disappointed," Clint murmured, bring the point of his knife to bear against the scientist's carotid artery. "Last question. Are you the one that would be building the Phase 2 items she's after?"

"Phase 2? What's that," the man asked, confusion clear in his voice. "I don't _build_ anything. I'm a medical doctor; just brought in to analyze this Loki guy's blood and to patch up any wounds."

"Then it's your lucky day," Clint answered. "Because you're the only one that's gonna make it out of this thing alive. And you're gonna tell all your little black market and underworld friends _exactly_ what they can expect if come up with the same hare-brained scheme. You tell them not to fuck with what's mine, or I'll end every last one of them. Understand?"

"Absolutely," the scientist breathed. "Whatever you say; I'll do. I knew this was a bad idea to begin with…"

"Good. You're gonna take a little nap now, and when you wake up I expect you to start spreading the word. And don't let me ever see your face again, because I won't be so kind next time." And with that, Clint released his choke-hold, reversed the grip on his knife, and slammed the hilt into the man's temple, dropping him instantly into a crumpled heap at his feet. Sidestepping the fallen scientist, Clint sheathed his knife and readied his bow as he hurried to the door. Loki was close, but so was the bitch that had orchestrated this whole thing and he had an arrow with her name on it.

No one challenged him as he made his way to the aforementioned door and paused outside to ready himself. There was no convenient window here to allow him to formulate a plan of attack, so he was going in blind. '_Not the best way to do things,'_ Clint thought. '_But I don't really have a choice.' _Gritting his teeth, the archer kicked the door open and stepped inside.

His eyes ticked over the scene before him. Loki strapped into…was that a fucking _dentist's_ chair? A collar snugged tight around his neck, and the reflexive shock from Clint's violent entrance was already fading into a wolfish grin of anticipation. Behind the restrained god was a blonde woman, leaning against the wall and trying very hard to affect an air of cool detachment; as if she were utterly unconcerned with Clint's arrival. He decided to change her mind on the matter, and quickly loosed an arrow that punched through her right shoulder, pinning her to the wall as neatly as a butterfly on a display board.

She uttered a high, reedy scream, her incredulous gaze fixed on the feathered shaft suddenly sprouting from her flesh. A small pistol dropped from the nerveless fingers of her right hand, and Clint snorted in amusement. If she'd actually been planning on using that, a good time would have been _before_ he put a hole through her.

"Whatever took you so long, my Hawk," Loki teased, squirming against his bonds.

"A better question might be how in the _fuck_ did you let yourself be taken by this merry band of idiots?"

"What they lack in skill, they made up for in subterfuge," snapped the god.

"They managed to trick the Trickster," Clint smirked. "Gotta say, Princess. _Not_ your finest moment."

Loki snarled in frustration, and then narrowed his eyes at the archer. "Perhaps," he began in a low, deadly tone, "had I listened to my instincts rather than your assurances, this would not have occurred."

Clint's brow furrowed and he asked, "What do you mean?"

"It was that old woman from next door! The one you assured me was harmless."

Striding around the chair, Clint was upon the softly sobbing blonde woman. He knocked away her left hand from where she was futilely trying to tug the arrow free, prompting a ragged wail from her throat at the vibration of the shaft.

"Is that true," he demanded. "Did you have that old bat on your payroll?"

The woman uttered a short laugh, and then panted, "You two are adorable. First a lover's spat, and now you're basically calling him a liar? What's the matter, Agent Barton? Are you that afraid to discover that you made a near fatal error in judgment?"

"I think you're about to find out that you're the one that made the fatal error, sweetheart," Clint growled and turned back to the irate god, who was still tugging against his restraints. He quickly undid the wrist straps, and then moved to the ankles as Loki stripped the collar from around his throat, flinging it across the room once he was free.

Standing to his full height, Loki fixed his glittering gaze on the woman before him. He stretched languidly, shaking feeling back into his hands before gliding toward her.

"Madeline, was it not," he asked in a purring tone, his grin widening as she shrank back as far as the wall, and the arrow holding her in place would allow. When she refused to answer, or even meet his eyes, Loki leaned in and said quietly, mock sorrow dripping from his words, "I am afraid that you have been _very_ naughty, Madeline. And now you must pay the price for your misdeeds. Say goodbye to your little dream of power, and pray that the Norns show you mercy."

Clint watched curiously as Loki's hands traced a complicated pattern in the air, and when he stepped back there was no sign of Madeline; just a blood-stained arrow sticking out of the wall, and the faint smell of ozone.

"Huh," Clint said. "That's new. Never seen you, what? Melt someone with your magic jazz-hands before."

Loki shot Clint a sour look before replying, "I did not _melt_ her. She was simply banished to Yggdrasil, where the Norns will decide her punishment." A smirk tugged at the corner of the god's mouth. "I am sure it will be something quite fitting to her crimes."

"Look at you, being merciful," Clint snorted. "Now I feel a little bad about killing everyone else."

"Oh, I was _not_ being merciful. The Norns are known to be quite…malevolent," Loki said. He paused then and looked at Clint with oddly bright eyes before asking in a contemplative tone, "You…killed all the others? Why?"

"Because they deserved it," Clint growled. "Sooner or later they would've gotten their shit together and presented a real threat. I was just making sure that never happened."

"And is that the _only_ reason, my Hawk," Loki murmured as he moved toward the archer, taking in his rigid stance, hands fisted at his sides as he trembled with barely contained rage.

"No," he admitted. "That's not the only reason." Looking up at the god, Clint said quietly, "I did it because they _took_ you from me. And I wasn't about to let that go unpunished."

The heat in Loki's gaze flared all the brighter, and as he stepped close to Clint the god leaned in to murmur in his ear, "My _hero_. I believe that you have earned a fitting reward for bloodying your hands in your efforts to reclaim me." Nipping sharply at the archer's lobe, Loki walked Clint backwards a few steps before pushing him down to the chair that had so recently held the bound god.

Loki quickly stripped Clint of his quiver and bow, laying them reverently on the floor nearby. He paused for a moment, looking up at his Hawk from eyes hooded with desire. Those long-fingered hands slid up Clint's shins before curving around to tease his inner thighs with a light touch. The archer bit his lower lip and uttered a soft groan as the god's hands moved up, tracing around Clint's rapidly hardening length with his fingertips.

"Your shirt," Loki cooed. "I want it off."

Clint's only answer was to quickly strip his tee-shirt off over his head and fling it to the side. Loki hummed in approval, and surged up from between the archer's spread knees to capture his mouth in a bruising kiss. The god's hands slid upward, teasing over the firm muscles of Clint's belly, across his chest and then over those broad shoulders. Dipping his head, Loki nipped at his Hawk's throat, and then stroked the backs of his fingers down corded arms, grinning at the shudder that ran through the smaller man's body.

"It would seem you missed my touch," Loki said in a smug tone.

Clint gave another shiver as Loki raked his nails up the archer's forearms before shoving him back into the chair. In one quick motion the god was astride his thighs, bending forward to scrape sharp teeth over his Hawk's collarbone before moving lower and biting down on one peaked nipple. Clint hissed in a breath, and his hands came up to tangle in Loki's ebony fall of hair, tugging him to the other side of his chest to repeat the motion.

"Why wouldn't I," he moaned as the god flicked the tip of his tongue over Clint's nipple, teasing before pressing his teeth into the sensitive flesh. "You're so fucking _good_ with your hands."

Loki chuckled against the taut skin of the archer's chest. "Yes," he murmured, as he slid long fingers beneath the waistband of Clint's pants to trace his obvious arousal. "I am."

Clint's hips bucked up into Loki's touch, and the god wasted no time in unfastening his Hawk's pants and spreading them open to free his insistent length. Loki hummed in approval, and leaned back on Clint's thighs, wrapping one hand firmly around the archer's cock while the other reached behind to grip his leg for balance.

A ragged shout echoed off the concrete walls as Loki gave a long, slow pull. "Is this what you missed," he asked. "Were you fearful you'd not have my hands upon you again?"

"There was never any question whether or not I'd get you back," Clint growled, staring up at the god from lust-hooded eyes.

"No. I don't suppose there _was_," Loki mused as he stroked and squeezed, dragging needy little cries from the archer's throat. "The only real question was how many would you _kill_ to restore me to my rightful place at your side."

"However many got in my way," Clint answered as he slid his hand up Loki's thigh to palm the god's cock. "Now how 'bout you get naked, Princess? Then you can show me the full measure of your appreciation."

Loki grinned down at the man beneath him. "Aren't you eager," he teased as he climbed off the chair and slowly began removing his clothing, feeling that sniper's gaze crawling across each newly bared bit of skin.

"Can you blame me?"

"No. I cannot say that I do," Loki purred as he shed his pants and stood bare before his Hawk.

The lust was plain in Clint's face, and he slicked his tongue across his lower lip before he rasped out, "C'mere."

Loki easily straddled Clint in the low chair and rocked forward, pressing his arousal flush against the archer's own. Wrapping long fingers around their combined girth, the god grinned at the low whine that spilled from Clint's throat, and the way his hips bucked up involuntarily. Loki held himself above his Hawk, still and silent as the smaller man rutted into his fist, the friction building by the moment. As Clint's breathy moans grew in volume, Loki squeezed and released rhythmically before beginning to stroke in direct opposition to the archer's movements.

"F-_fuck_, Loki," Clint stuttered, his gaze burning into the smirking god above him. "Don't you _dare_ stop…"

"Whatever you wish," Loki purred, his hand moving faster over the two of them, the silken drag of their flesh driving his own desire to new heights. He had seen Clint give in to the beast within; so many times and in so many ways, but never once had he considered that the archer would compromise his own moral code to ensure the god's safety. There was something inside of Loki, something dark and dangerous that took great pleasure in knowing this bit of truth.

Adding a twist on the upstroke, Loki pulled a ragged moan from Clint. Humming in approval, the god bent down over the archer, bracing himself with his free hand on the back of the chair. He held Clint's direct stare, narrowing his eyes as he asked softly, "Is this _all_ you want as your reward? The pleasure of my hands alone? Or do you wish for me to sink down and envelop you in my tight…clenching…heat?"

Punctuating each pause with a firm squeeze, Loki watched closely as Clint's teeth drove into his lower lip hard enough to draw blood, caging his cries. The god darted forward and licked at the welling crimson bead before slanting his mouth across Clint's, swallowing the archer's needy whine. The kiss lingered, and Loki's hand continued to stroke, feeling the insistent twitch of hardened flesh in his grip.

Pulling back, the god's tongue ran out and swiped the traces of Clint's blood from his lips. He smiled down at the panting, writhing man below him and asked, "Well? Do you want all I have to offer? You _have_ earned it, my Hawk."

"Fuck _yes_, I want it all," Clint growled. "I want you. All of you." The archer's hands went to Loki's hips and gripped them tightly, tugging him forward. "Now work that little trick you do so well, and get yourself ready for me."

Loki smirked down at Clint, and suddenly his hand was gliding over their combined girth, slicking them both before he released his grip and moved up and forward. The head of Clint's cock slid against his entrance, and those poison green eyes grew feral as the god slowly sank down, taking his Hawk's entire length.

Clint's head ground back against the headrest of the chair, and he swore bitterly as he slipped deeper, the narrow confines of Loki's body pressing in around his sensitive flesh. "Somebody's…excited," he ground out, teeth clenched. "Didn't even take time to…prepare."

"No," Loki moaned wantonly as he rose up, the drag of Clint's cock inflaming the god's lust. "I-I wanted to feel every inch; every thrust. And even the slightest delay is more than I can bear when you have me in this state."

At the apex of Loki's upward motion, Clint's fingers dug deeper into the god's flesh, and he snarled out, "You wanna feel it, Princess? Then _take_ it!" And with that, the archer's hips snapped up at the same moment he pulled Loki down, sheathing himself deep within that burning heat.

The wail Loki voiced echoed off the walls around them, ringing in Clint's ears as the god's body clenched all the tighter. Clint hissed in response, and then set about the business of wringing more of those needy cries from Loki's throat.

Loki's back arched, and his hips stuttered as he rode his Hawk, holding himself just slightly above so that Clint could thrust up from beneath. The growls the smaller man uttered were nearly drowned out by the sharp sound of their bodies meeting time and again, in a frenzy of need. The god's gaze was held by Clint's intense stare, his lust-blown pupils nearly eclipsing the steel-blue. And as they both drew close to their release, the archer began to speak, urging Loki on in that gravelly rumble that sent chills down the god's spine.

"I can feel you," he growled. "Getting so tight. You gonna come for me?"

"Yes," Loki gasped, his hips circling, thighs trembling to either side of Clint's body. "Make me, my Hawk. Make me come undone."

Clint drove deep then, pulling Loki down against his chest and grinding, seeking that spot within that would bring the god to ruin. The sudden stiffening of Loki's spine paired with the breathy, surprised "Oh," he voiced told Clint that he had hit his target.

"Right there, huh," he asked, arching up to nip at the god's throat.

Loki nodded frantically, whining and rutting his neglected cock against Clint's flat stomach. "Again…please? Oh, by the Nine, _PLEASE_, Clint! _Fuck_ me!"

"I _am_ fucking you," the archer growled, pistoning his hips, angling himself _just_ so in order to hit that spot again. "Tell me what you really want, Loki. What you need."

"Harder," Loki sobbed. "Fuck me harder! Make me come for you...and then spill your lust deep in my belly. Fill me, my Hawk. Do it. _NOW_!"

"Good boy," Clint snarled, and slammed home, burying himself again and again as Loki's cries spiraled higher with each thrust. And then the god buried his face against Clint's throat, muffling his ragged screams of completion as he painted the space between them with wet heat.

"Now," Loki cried as he shuddered atop the archer. "Come for me, Clint. Come _in_ me…"

Clint's back arched, hips losing contact with the chair altogether as he sank fully into Loki's spasming body. He held himself deep as he pitched over the edge, and washed the god's inner walls in wave after wave of his release. Swearing bitterly, his hips stuttering, the archer fucked his way through his orgasm, wringing every drop of pleasure possible from Loki's trembling frame. And through it all, the god moved in a sinuous wave atop him, unable or unwilling to stop his wanton motions.

When the sensations became too much, Clint released Loki's hips and wrapped his arms around the god, hands stroking down his back and murmuring into his ear. Slowly the god came to rest, his heaving chest pressed against his Hawk's; their hearts pounding in time.

"That…was a hell of a reward," Clint panted.

"Mmmm, yes," Loki purred in a voice utterly satiated. He lifted his head from Clint's throat and teased, "Perhaps I should allow myself to be stolen away more often."

"Don't you _fucking_ dare," Clint growled, and drew the god into a deep kiss.


End file.
